


Liquid Courage

by Cal (caltastic)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen does not understand words, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Matchmaker Everyone, Prompt Fill, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sexual Content, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:48:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3800815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caltastic/pseuds/Cal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The awkward UST between the Inquisitor and her Commander is the worst-kept secret in Skyhold, and something needs to be done about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the kmeme. Original prompt [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13696.html?thread=53256320#t53256320). 
> 
> So I don't normally post unfinished work, but I also don't usually write anything over a thousand words and I certainly don't ever write things with chapters, so basically the point is I have no idea who and what I am anymore. This pairing has utterly consumed me and there is no escape, but man, what a fun place to be.

All things being equal, Cullen was having a terrible night.

It had started out much better than it was currently going; the Herald returned from the Western Approach three full days early, the Iron Bull's triumphant roar about _we killed a High fucking Dragon!_ preceding them from the front portcullis. He was careful not to rush the battlements to see her, always so very, _very_ careful to appear calm and stately and only precisely as interested as it was seemly for the Commander of the Inquisition's forces to be upon the return of an advanced force, even when containing the actual Inquisitor.

It would never do for her to know that his heart stopped beating when she left and only started up again when she returned hale and safe.

Cullen had looked down over the wall and raised his hand in an easy combination of greeting and salute, breathing as always a little deeper when she looked up, met his gaze, and raised her hand to him.

"You really should say something to her, you know," Dorian had said, coming up to stand at the wall next to him, and that was when the day started going downhill. Bull had insisted on throwing an immediate celebratory party at the Herald's Rest, and Dorian absolutely would not hear of leaving Cullen alone in his office to work. "You need to make an appearance at least. She would be disappointed if you didn't." And that had been completely unfair, and he was certain totally unfounded, but just on the tiniest, most minuscule chance that it _wasn't_ he couldn't bring himself to stay away.

He should definitely have stayed away.

By the time he'd gotten himself together enough to join everyone in the tavern -- and oh sweet Andraste he was pretty sure that this was indeed literally _everyone_ \-- the celebration was in full swing. He'd slipped in through the front door, fully intending to make his congratulations and then retreat to the peaceful solitude of his office, but the Inquisitor had spotted him immediately. She'd grabbed his hands and squeezed them, said "Cullen, I'm so glad you're here," before getting whisked away again, and all thoughts of fleeing were chased away by her delighted smile.

He'd made his way through the jubilant crowd, proud and pleased and stiff, shaking hands and back-slapping and his eyes returning to her, always to her, and then snapping away whenever her eyes caught him out at it. Then Sera's brassy voice rang out from her perch on the second storey railing: "Hey, if Ironbritches gets in any more eyefucking I'm gonna start charging tickets!" He'd felt his face go red and he hated it, hated blushing like some prudish virgin when he absolutely certainly wasn't, and fled to Cabot and the bar.

That had been his first beer.

There was a newcomer among them, but that hadn't been surprising since people came and went at Skyhold all the time now; rarely, though, did Josephine go out of her way to introduce them to the Inquisitor outside of officially sanctioned, formal meetings. Also surprising was the way the Inquisitor had looked when the man bowed and kissed the back of her hand. She almost never had the time or disposition for such fripperies, and when the handsome -- Cullen had graciously supposed he was handsome, if one liked the broad-shouldered, hardy Fereldan type -- noble leaned over to murmur something in her ear, she'd ducked her head prettily and laughed like a girl. 

Before Cullen could escape and be violently heartsick in private, Josephine appeared at his shoulder, linking her arm through his. "Bann Ainsley is an _extremely_ influential voice in the Bannorn," she'd said in the delighted, self-satisfied way she had that tended to signify some kind of rollicking political coup. Another peal of sudden laughter from the Inquisitor and an answering gravely-voiced chuckle from Bann Usurper and Josephine had bounced up and down on her toes in delight. "I just _knew_ they would hit it off."

In a fair and just world, the Veil would have torn open right then and swallowed him whole. "That's ... nice."

Josephine hadn't known any better than to leave well enough alone, so she regaled him with the Bann's sterling qualities, how stunning the Inquisitor looked celebrating with her forces, how pleased she appeared to be with his attention as they sat together at the central table with her hand on his arm, and the Bann's suitability as prospective consort for the Inquisitor.

At this last, Cullen had choked on his drink and thought that the Veil would, indeed, tear open and swallow him whole. "What?"

Josephine had looked at him oddly, brows furrowed. "His cousin is married to one of hers and they have much in common even aside from family ties. A political alliance with a member of the Bannorn is of course well and good but to seal it with a marriage contract would keep us in funds and trade for more than enough years. I'd hoped to find someone she liked, should such an arrangement become necessary."

He vaguely remembered taking a deep breath to clear the panicked haze rising in his vision before asking in what he was sure was just an idly curious voice if such an arrangement were indeed necessary. "Well, no," Josephine had said, and her voice sounded slightly strange. "But in case it were -- it is always best to be prepared, yes?"

Then he'd seen the Bann putting his hand on the Herald's knee and he excused himself before he begged, out loud, for the Veil to tear open and swallow him whole.

That had been his second beer, and a tiny glass full of some fiery Antivan concoction that he wasn't entirely sure of the name of.

Varric had caught him at the bar right after that Antivan death-liquor had tried to set his esophagus on fire, and Cullen knew there was going to be trouble because Varric was wearing his Reasonable Face. "Curly, look," he'd started, and Cullen had sighed, squared his shoulders, and prepared. "Look, I can't overstate how much money I have riding on this."

In all of the possible permutations of conversation with Varric he'd planned out in his head, this was not what Cullen had prepared for. "Are we -- did I miss a card game? What are you talking about?"

"Look," Varric started again. "If you tell her I said so your manly parts will become intimately acquainted with a crossbow bolt, but the Seeker believes in romance, and she believes in the Herald. She's got three to one odds that the Herald gets you cornered before you even figure out how to get the stick out of your ass, and I _can't have that_. You can't let her win, Curly. I believe in you. Man up."

Cullen had kept his features carefully blank, and promptly turned on his boot-heel to order another shot of that clear golden Antivan doom. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Varric scoffed out a derisive laugh. "Of course you don't. There's absolutely no reason why every time you look over at that poor dumb bastard sitting in your chair you get a look on your face like you've just figured out an extremely clever way to disembowel him."

With one quick look over at the Herald's brightly-lit table Cullen had put the lie to anything he could have said; he'd actually _felt_ his face freezing, and sure enough there was an accompanying mental picture of noble Fereldan teeth scattered all over the floor. "Shut _up_ , dwarf."

"Oh ouch, Curly. I am wounded. Cut to the quick." Varric had rolled his eyes and left him there with his testosterone-dominant fantasies, and Cullen had to resist the urge to bang his forehead to the bartop. It wasn't his chair, it would never be his chair, and she seemed perfectly happy to have someone else in the damned chair anyway.

Now here he was, three beers in and hiding alone at a shadowed table in the corner. Every time he steeled himself to pack it in and let it go and just get the hell out of there something would stay him: her laugh, full-throated and booming like cannons of joy; the glint of fire in her hair like sunrise over the mountain; her eyes, bright and flashing, seeing everything but him. 

"Peace, but tumultuous -- soothing, steady, calm even while the focus fractures, pain but a good hurt, it makes you feel alive."

"Oh for Maker's _sake_ ," Cullen snapped up, startled, sloshing his drink on the table. Even after all this time, the boy's sudden appearances were disconcerting. "Cole, I -- "

"Why don't you talk to her? She likes it when you do." 

"We talk all the time." Cullen rested his elbows on the table, his eyes still on the Inquisitor and her ... guest. "We're friendly. Friends. It's fine. Good, actually. Excellent."

Cole cocked his head to the side, brows drawing together under the shadowed brim of his hat. "Words cling together like molasses, sticky and backwards and everything wrong. Not like the sword, the sword goes where I want it, smooth with long practice, why can't I practice with words -- but Cullen, you aren't even _trying_ to practice."

Cullen didn't have the energy to deflect, and Cole didn't deserve to be the target of his misery. "Sometimes things that are broken can't be fixed. It's fragile enough, I can't break what we have."

With a sad, earnest smile, Cole shook his head. "Nothing is broken, Cullen. The pieces are all there, you just have to put them together. I could tell you what she said, if it would --"

"No!" Cullen cut him off abruptly, raising his hand to forestall further words. "Don't go poking around in her head! She deserves her privacy." Well, if he was being honest with himself it was only partly consideration for her privacy; mostly, it was that he hadn't had enough to drink yet to hear definitively that her heart was closed to him. At least in ignorance there was still the small, furtive bloom of hope.

But Cole leaned forward, his voice low. "He builds himself a fortress without a door. Maker, I wish there were a door." He straightened up, shrugging. "It's not her head. She asked me to tell you." 

Cullen felt more than heard the snap his jaw made when he finally closed it. "That's not -- " The room was suddenly spinning around him like he'd had too much to drink, which through sheer force of will he was sure was absolutely _not possible_ and he gripped the edges of the table hard. Across the tavern, she laughed again, the Bann's long-fingered hand toying with a loose lock of her hair.

"She likes it when he tells her she's pretty, good words, comes so easy for him. He's noble, good family, good enough for her. She wonders if he'll kiss her later. Maybe more than kisses, fiery bright like stars."

Cullen let out a low, miserable groan and did drop his head to the table. "Cole, you are killing me. This is the exact opposite of helping. _Stay out of her head._ "

Cole dropped his hand to Cullen's shoulder and patted it, an awkward simulacrum of a gesture seen a thousand times but never actually put into practice. "It's _not_ her head. It's _your_ head, you just think it's hers, watching, waiting, judging yourself. You fell out of the tree and told mama it didn't hurt but then the healer came to set it. Burning blinding stabbing searing pain, but then it healed straight. It would heal crooked if you didn't set it first, the hurting part of the helping."

On his left wrist, a faint scar remained the only memory of that long-ago mishap. He'd been six, trying to impress the older boys, and Cullen shook his head as if to clear his thoughts from that clinging, sticky molasses. "Cole, that -- I think that actually makes sense. Thank you."

"I always make sense," Cole said, affronted. "Just because you don't understand doesn't mean I don't make sense."

A swirl of crimson silk and dragon leathers came to Cullen's rescue, Dorian sliding into the next chair with a bottle of wine in hand. "Has Cole destroyed you yet, Commander? I told Bull it was a terrible idea, but it came down to either Cole or Sera and we all thought Cole would be more gentle in the evisceration."

"You _all_ thought?" This terrible, horrible night was definitely getting worse. "Are you all sitting around making bets on my personal life?" The second the words left his mouth, Cullen's expression sank and his face followed, buried in his hands; Varric had as much said they were. "Oh Andraste's ass, you _are._ "

Dorian just shook his head, clucking his tongue. "What do you think we talk about when we're camped around the fire in the middle of some gods-forsaken desert, fashion and personal grooming?" He paused and considered this. "Well, of course that, it takes a great deal of time and effort to be this spectacularly handsome. But _also_ you, dear man, and how astonishingly thick you can be. It's a rare gift you have."

"I'm going to need another beer," Cullen said in a dull voice.

"No, you don't," Dorian said. "You're cut off, because you're looking for foolhardy, not impaired. Now, listen to me, my good man. In approximately three minutes Bull is going to flip that table. We may or may not be losing some of the torches, but that depends on how sober Sera is, so don't count on it. I am going to distract that fine gentleman the Lady Ambassador has foisted upon us, and you are going to rescue our Inquisitor and spirit her away. It's a terrible handicap in poor Varric's books, but he'll survive."

Cullen started to sputter in indignation, but was surprised into silence by several things happening at once: first there was a sudden harsh jangling of shattering glass hitting the floor. Immediately following was a horrified wail from Josephine, clinging to Cassandra in a pool of broken wineglasses and begging to know why no one had _told_ her. Then, Iron Bull, appearing drunk to an extent not formerly known by mortal men, crashed straight through the Inquisitor's table and onto the floor in front of her. The force of his collapse sent the enormous iron chandelier swinging, most of its candles snuffing out in the sudden draft. 

They all got to their feet in the dim light of the remaining lanterns, and Dorian gave Cullen a little push. "And we're off. Now, remember," Dorian murmured in parting, "Foolhardy. Be daring. Embrace this opportunity, my friend."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's worst nightmare: words words words talky talky words feelings words.

Cullen took a deep breath, then detoured to the bar to grab another pint of beer. With sword and shield thus in hand, he picked his way through the detritus with his eyes on the Herald, noting that indeed, Dorian had spirited the Bann away from the mess and toward the opposite side of the room, where he was talking vividly with expansive hand and arm flourishes about something. It was probably just cleverly-pitched words about mustache waxes or ancient Tevene poetry or perhaps the migratory habits of druffalo, but Dorian's exuberance was indeed a formidable distraction.

When Cullen reached the wreckage of the big table, Bull was still lying on the ground, laughing uproariously with the Herald slouched on the floor and cackling like a loon next to him. "Are you all right?" she asked Bull around her laugh. "Morris may not forgive you for the table, but that looked _amazing._ "

"Shit yeah," Bull said, rolling up to a seated position. "Wood's nothing. There was this one time in Seheron, though, with these big blocky stone tables, and in the middle of this huge brawl a fucking Tal-Vashoth threw me right through one and _that_ hurt like hell. Broke four ribs and chipped a horn that day. Damn, that was a good fight." As Cullen stood there watching them, the Bull looked up at him with his one good eye oddly widened. "So you can't tell because of the patch," Bull said, "But that was a wink just then." His eye widened again, and she spluttered back into giggles. "There was another one. Go on, get gone. We'll wrangle the mess."

Cullen cleared his throat and tried his best to salvage the situation: him, standing stiff and uncomfortable; her, seated on the floor hip-to-hip with a giant Qunari, the shattered remnants of the celebration scattered around them. "My lady," he said, grateful that holding two pints of beer meant he couldn't indulge in any of his usual anxiety-displaying habits, like rubbing the back of his neck or grabbing onto his sword hilt or strangling himself with his own mantle. He thrust the full pint of beer at her, and then held out his open hand to help her to her feet. 

She took it and rose gracefully, always graceful; she was so beautiful in the flickering light he almost forgot to breathe, and he did forget to drop her hand. He stood there stricken dumb for a moment that almost stretched into an infinity of awkwardness before she spoke up. "Cullen, what is it?"

He looked down at the tankard in her other hand and then flicked his eyes back up to hers. "Um. Bull spilled yours?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth he gave a pitiful, reflexive groan. Why was this so _difficult?_ "I mean -- "

"No," she said, laughter in her voice as she ran her thumb over his gloved one in their joined hands, and just hearing it made him grateful for the interruption. "This. What's this?"

Slowly but inexorably Cullen felt the blood creeping up his face and he tried vainly to push it back, wanting desperately to look as suave and charming as Bann Pressing-His-Luck had. The need to put his arms around her was suddenly so overwhelming his skin felt too tight and he dropped her hand like it burned him. "I -- well, that is -- would you -- " he stopped, took a deep breath, and finished the last of his beer in one long drought and swallow. _Be daring_ rattled around, echoing in his head, and before he could change his mind or overthink it he let the words all tumble out, one on top of the other. "Would you care to take a walk with me?"

Just watching her slow, brilliant smile was worth every second of his nervous discomfort, and mostly worth the sight of someone else's hand on her knee. Mostly. "I'd love to." She finished off her beer with a speed that was truly impressive, then left her tankard on the newel square at the bottom of the stairs. "Let's go up?"

They started up the stairs, but going up from the second floor had to make room for a swaggering Sera to pass on her way down.

"Oi, top door's open," Sera called out, twirling a ring of keys around her finger. "Have fun shagging in the snow, yeah? Tell me all about it later." She froze for a moment, shaking her shaggy head, and shuddered. "Or, actually, don't. That's, you know, eauugh. Lock it back up after you go so nobody else has to see any of your business...eses. Naked parts." She tossed the keys to Cullen and then skipped back down the stairs, whistling tunelessly.

Cullen stayed frozen on the stairs, looking down after Sera and at the keys in his hand in riveted horror. Perhaps the Veil was still available to tear open and swallow him whole? "Inquisitor, please believe that I have no intention of ..." He struggled to find palatable words to describe a suggestion that had in fact occurred to him more often than his dignity cared to admit, failed, and finally gave up. "... You ... in the snow."

She hovered a moment on the riser below him, but then took his hand and squeezed it like she'd done when he first arrived. "I know, Cullen," she said, and he didn't recognize the note in her voice. For several heart-pounding moments he shuffled through all the valid possibilities he could think of -- shame, or pity, or maybe just drinking her beer too fast -- and then she laughed, though it still sounded vaguely wooden. "Come on, Commander. Let's not waste Sera's gift."

This time she led up the stairs and around the corner to the small loft space on the third floor. Once in the ramshackle tower room attached to the tavern, Cullen locked the door behind them with Sera's key, startled to discover that his hand was shaking. _Be daring,_ he heard again, and left the keys danging from the lock. "Walk the walls with me? The view is tremendous." Wait: view, in the dark? Of all the stupid, thoughtless --

"Definitely," she said, slipping her arm through his, which caused him to simultaneously freeze and stand up straighter. He could cope with 'definitely.' Definitely was very good.

They picked their way through the ruined tower and Cullen opened the east door for her. She ran her free hand over the ridges of the merlon, looking out over the lights of Skyhold. They were quiet together for several moments, and he used the opportunity to watch her, tracing the lines of her profile indelibly into his mind. "Cullen," she started hesitantly. "We're friends, aren't we?"

The question surprised a frown out of him; he'd not known that was ever in doubt. "Of course, Inquisitor."

"Then why won't you call me Evelyn?" She crossed her other arm over her chest, linking her hands together around his arm, and he swore he could feel the heat of her palms through all the layers of his coat and vambrace. 

Cullen curled his opposite hand into a fist just to keep from rubbing at the back of his neck. "I didn't think it would be appropriate. You're Lady Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste, and my parents... well, I'm trying to be respectful."

Her hands tightened around his arm and she turned slightly to look up at him instead of out at the view. "Cullen, I appreciate what we all have to do here, and all of the symbols and displays and posturing involved in being the Inquisition and bending the rest of Thedas to our will, but when it's just us I would like very much if you just used my name and let me be me."

With her earnest eyes meeting his Cullen felt his mind going utterly blank. She worked so hard for them, for herself, for the cause, and he had been sworn to service for so long that it had never occurred to him that she might fear losing herself in the role. "You are the most amazing woman I have ever had the honor to know." Whether through the influence of alcohol or his own distraction, the words just fell out, and he couldn't catch them back in time. Small mercies that it was dark enough along the walls to hide the flaming flush along his cheekbones, but his stomach dropped to his boots and he thought he might lose those three beers and tiny glasses of Antivan liquor all over the crenelations.

"Then call me Evelyn," she laughed and reached up to tweak his nose.

Her laughter took most of his shame with it, and the sudden relief from anxiety made him lightheaded. With a smile of his own, he caught her offending hand in his and brought it to his lips. "As you wish, Evelyn." He saw her breath hitch in her chest and it bolstered his confidence; he kept her hand, enjoying the feel of her fingers against the leather of his glove. A gust blew down the battlements, and the Herald -- no, Evelyn -- shivered. "Wait, you let me walk you out here without a cloak?" Cullen dropped her hand to hurriedly unfasten his mantle and settled it over her shoulders. "There."

Evelyn snuggled into the fur along the collar, breathing deeply as the warmth returned to her cheeks. "Well, I wasn't thinking about a cloak at the time." She took a step closer, running one hand along his breastplate. "You know, I've never seen you without this? Even at dinner, even in the tavern, you're always in armor."

Cullen felt like his heart was beating in time with her movements. Another step closer and they would be sharing the same space, the same breath. "It's another one of your symbols. If the Inquisition's Commander always appears armored and ready for battle, the Inquisition's forces are also seen to be always in readiness."

"Goodness, Cullen. Do you _sleep_ in it?"

"Of course not. I don't wear anything to bed." Too late, Cullen realized he'd blundered right into a spiky man-eating trap lined with both monsters and poison, and probably also poisonous monsters. "I mean -- I -- it's easier to start fresh in the morning -- I just -- oh, hell."

Her peals of laughter rang through the clear, cold night like the Chantry bells of his youth; before Kinloch, before Kirkwall, before anything but faith and joy, and _be daring_ rang again through his head in perfect harmony. 

_Be daring._

Before he could stop and think about it, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. It was brief, gentle; just a brush of his lips against hers, and then he broke the contact just far enough to see her eyes as he stroked his thumbs along her cheekbones. "Please excuse my presumption," he said, his voice low and quiet.

Evelyn didn't let him bother to find any more words; she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back with abandon. They stood there in the battlements between the towers for moments that didn't even feel stolen -- they just felt _right._ The pair of them fit together perfectly; what started off slow and searching exploded into a natural force. He traced the shape of her lips with his tongue, giddy with the taste of her, and she tangled her fingers in his hair to anchor him as they twined together. Dark and hungry, the kiss went on and on, heedless of the falling snow or the wind whistling through the crumbling walls.

When they parted after what could have been just a moment or could have been eternity, Cullen slid his hands to her waist and wrapped an arm around her, keeping her close. "I've been building a door for you, Evelyn." He held himself very still, and it took an act of supreme will to keep his eyes on hers and his heart beating normally. "Is it working?"

She grinned at him in that way she had that made his blood pump just a little harder, and all doubt flew away. "I forgot my cloak because I was too busy admiring your ass climbing the stairs in front of me. Trust me, it's working."

That time it was Cullen's turn to laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capping off an eventful evening, Operation: Matchmaker Everyone is a rousing success.

Evelyn shivered again, even bundled up in his furs and his arms as she was, and Cullen wondered if it would be considered blasphemous to send thanks to the nature-spirits like the Avvar did. "Come on," he said, briefly making a mental note to check in with Sky Watcher later; it would be worth it. "It should still be warm in my office."

She stayed tucked under his arm as they strolled down the wall, and Cullen was loath to release her even long enough to fumble the door open. Once the door closed behind them, however, the finality of the latch combined with the how utterly empty his arms felt without her gave him time to start doubting himself. "I -- I apologize for removing you from your party," he started hesitantly, and his hand was at the back of his neck before he even realized it. "Once you're warmed up I would be happy to escort you back."

"Cullen."

He briefly registered that she'd dropped his mantle on the floor; he bent to hang it up, desperate for something to distract his nervous energy. "I'm sure Bann Grabbyhands is missing you, and Josephine would be -- "

"Cullen!" She was laughing now, and he knew he was blushing again and wondered it were possible to expire from sheer mortification. Everything was always so much easier in his head, where he'd planned out every minute detail of how charming and irresistible he'd be once he finally had the opportunity to be alone with her; not coincidentally, there was a lot less talking and far fewer articles of clothing when he mentally played through this scenario. "Cullen, I first met Ainsley when I was a child. He used to go hunting with my brother, and wanted to know what happened to my pigtails."

It felt like the entire world stopped and focused with precision on this empty room and the pair of them. Cullen took a step toward her, clearing his throat. "Just a childhood friend." She nodded, eyes bright, and he came another step closer. "So no reason to stay in the tavern." Evelyn shook her head, and every millimeter of her crooked smile strengthened his own resolve. _Be daring._ "Then I feel it only fair to warn you that I have been thinking about this for far longer than I should admit."

She stood at the edge of his desk and he stopped in front of her, his hands settling on her hips and she sighed, her entire mien relaxing. "If it's even half as long as I've been thinking about this, I have no idea how you get any sleep at night."

The amused noise that bubbled up from his chest was a low rumble, and Cullen tilted his head down to press his lips against the hollow of her throat. "There hasn't been much sleeping, no." He could do this; this part was easy. No worried panic about saying the right things or making sure he presented himself properly -- just his mouth along the curve of her jaw, his gloved hands sliding under her tunic and jerkin to trace the lines of her ribs, his thigh pressed between hers while her clever, nimble fingers clutched at his back.

She leaned back and braced herself on her palms against the surface of his desk, and he was so distracted by admiring the long lines of her body that it took him several moments to realize that she was actually speaking and not merely making inarticulate noises. "Cullen, have you... done this before?"

His vision clouded over and he choked out a strained laugh; her inarticulate noises had been much better. " _Yes,_ I have done this before."

"Oh," she said, and her breathless voice was a slight salve to his masculine pride. "It's just that you -- "

And that was enough of that: he silenced her with his teeth on her earlobe, making her voice break off in a moan. "Evelyn. If you aren't going to say something interestingly filthy, _stop talking_ ," he murmured, then captured her mouth with his while anchoring one hand in the hair at the base of her neck and splaying the other across her lower back. Cullen felt rather than saw her move, hopping up to sit on the desk with a quirk of her hips, and his hungry, dragging kisses followed her to stand flush between her thighs.

He pulled away long enough to reach behind her and with a desperate, hurried motion swept everything off the surface of his desk. Reports, inkwells, and unlit candles fluttered to the floor in a terrible mess that he knew he'd have to come up with an excellent story to explain in the morning but had a total inability to care about as she laughed and leaned back, quirking one of her deliciously long legs around his waist. Cullen reached for her again and realized with some small surprise that he was still wearing his gloves; he peeled them off with his teeth and startled out a hiss of breath that she matched when his calloused fingers stroked along her sides.

Evelyn leaned up and pulled off her tunic in a single smooth motion, arching her back and keeping her hands up over her head in what Cullen would be sure was a deliberate pose if he were at all capable of conscious thought once faced with such an expanse of her naked skin. "Maker's breath," he murmured with reverence, pressing his lips to her breastbone and stroking the backs of his fingers along her cheek. "You are..." He trailed off, unable to find words; he'd never felt so utterly without coherent speech in his life.

Then she used that leg around his waist to pull him into her, grinding his arousal against hers, and _that_ was the most he'd ever felt so utterly without coherent speech in his life. "Off," she declared imperiously, plucking at the shirt under his armor -- how in the name of all that was holy was he still wearing his breastplate -- and he was more than willing to oblige her, though it was entirely too slow going as he fumbled with various buckles and straps with fingers too shaky to move quickly. Finally he freed himself and tossed his linen shirt down after the clatter of his chestpiece, and she made a pleased noise that he echoed as her hands went up over his shoulders, raising goosebumps, then pulled him back down to her by tangling her hands in his hair.

He groaned at the heady feeling of her skin sliding against his and traced her collarbone with his tongue, leaving a line of kisses down the swell of her chest before looking up at her eyes, mouth quirked up in a smug grin he couldn't quite contain. "You should know that I am finding it extremely challenging to maintain appropriate professional distance just now."

Evelyn tugged on his hair hard enough to sting and wrapped her other leg around his waist to hold him in place, her hips writhing in the exact way she needed to make him absolutely lose his mind. "Cullen Rutherford, if you even consider leaving me like this I will personally excommunicate you."

He smiled, lips against her skin. "You would never."

"I definitely would." She arched her back again and he accepted her presented gift with grace, slowly circling his tongue around her nipple. "But not if you keep doing that." She gasped when he brought his other hand up, her legs tightening around him in a writhing serpentine that was doing serious damage to his long dreamed-of plans to be slow and gentle and worshipful with her.

He stroked his fingertips over her other breast and looked up at her, eyebrows raising. "I know what I said about not talking, but that was acceptable."

She laughed and Cullen wondered, not for the first time, if this were some kind of dream brought on by too little sleep and too much liquor. "You said I could talk if I were filthy. Do you want me to be filthy? Because I'll be as filthy as you like as long as you don't stop touching me." She pushed him back and sat up for a moment, long enough to kick off her boots and work on shimmying out of her trousers while he could only watch in wide-eyed admiration. When her pants had joined the rest of her clothes on the floor she spread herself back on the desk, so gloriously, stunningly naked that he entirely forgot how to breathe.

He didn't know where to touch first, crippled by the surfeit of choice, so he looked his fill instead. He studied the curve of her waist, the swell of her hip, and then let his fingertips follow; she allowed his patient study and for that Cullen was exceedingly grateful. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the hollow of her stomach, the scruff on his chin tickling against the sensitive skin of her abdomen. Her hands went to his hair again, ruffling and mussing and finally tugging in response to his slow, too-light kisses. "More," she murmured, and "please," and those words from her all but undid him. 

"As my lady wishes," he said, feeling assured and confident and above all _daring_ as he slid downward and flicked his tongue out to taste her. Her heels clattered against his back as he held her thighs open and stroked her with long, slow licks from the flat of his tongue, her hips rolling underneath him. He slid a finger into her while she moaned and called out his name, his hand and mouth working together to drive her over the edge. When she came on his tongue it was with a gratifying series of increasingly breathless pleas, her head thrown back and her back arched. Cullen straightened to his feet and coaxed her back to earth with feathery strokes of his palms along her thighs, and knew he looked altogether too pleased with himself but couldn't possibly care.

"Why are you still wearing pants?" she asked once she'd caught her breath, and he felt a smug sort of satisfaction at the petulant whine in her tone. He was about to answer her with something that would surely have been very suave and charming and absolutely exactly the right thing to say to express his undying devotion to her every thought, but then she had her hands inside his trousers and his mind went blank. His breath stuttered out of him in desperate gasps and his knees went weak, leaving him gripping the desk to stay upright as she gripped her hand around him, pumping with a firmness that left him shaken and wanting.

It took an infinite measure of hard-fought control for Cullen to pull away and take her hands in his. "You -- us -- this -- deserves a bed." He managed to regain enough of himself to quirk an eyebrow at her, the corner of his mouth turning up. "Not that I _mind_ thinking of you naked on my desk while I work." He brought his hand to her face in a smooth caress, an oddly gentle respite after their earlier frenzy.

Which Evelyn, of course, immediately turned on him; she brought that hand to her lips and slowly sucked his fingers into her mouth, sinfully swirling her tongue around each one while he gave a low, desperate groan. She released him perhaps mere moments before he was certain he'd go mad and met his eyes with a ferocious, burning need of her own. "Then take me to a bed. _Now._ "

"I sleep upstairs," Cullen's words hurried out before he realized that there was just no romantic way to climb a ladder. With stairs you could stumble up or down them if you needed to, perhaps with a pair of long, attractive legs wrapped around your waist, but a ladder required arms and hands working in concert and particular set amount of time. "If you'd like --" But Evelyn had already shimmied off the desk and scampered away with nothing more than a look over her shoulder at him, leaving her clothes scattered around the floor of his office as she swung smoothly long-limbed up the ladder and into the dim, quiet chill of his sleeping quarters.

Maker's breath, he loved that woman.

Cullen followed her up after a brief moment of indecision with respect for the untidy state in which he was leaving his office; ultimately his need for her outweighed his need for neatness and order and he left the scattered mess behind without a backward glance.

He really, _really_ loved that woman.

When he cleared the top of landing, she surprised him with a veritable attack of a kiss, throwing her arms around his neck before he even really had his balance and using that momentum to propel him toward the bed. She had her hands everywhere, and was a frenzy of pursed lips and nipping teeth; he let her have her way partly out of surprise but mostly, were he being totally honest, because watching her go up in flames was extraordinary. She pressed him to the mattress and wrestled off his boots while he watched, hands behind his head in an expression of extreme ease that he managed to maintain until the exact moment she reached for his waistband. 

The look she gave him when she pulled off his pants was almost predatory, and when she stalked up to straddle his hips it was fully possible that time stopped entirely. He held his breath as she scraped her fingernails over his chest, tracing the lines of old battle scars while he held every muscle tense to keep his control from snapping and bearing her down beneath him in favor of letting her play. She watched his muscles flex under her hands for what felt like eternity and then, with infinite slowness, slid her core along his length and they shuddered together. 

Cullen brought his hands to her hips as she rocked with agonizing friction over and over again, his fingers pressing into her when she showed no signs of relenting. "Should I beg?" he asked, breath hitching.

She just smiled, moonlight crowning her as she arched above him. "Oh, that might be interesting."

"Please," he gasped out without hesitation. "Evelyn, I need you. Please."

Her delighted laugh would be with him forever, and so would the feeling of her taking him and hand and finally, finally sinking down onto him. She moaned out his name when she bottomed out against him, and as soon as he could think again he'd hold that memory dear, too, but nothing in the entire world could compare with the sense of being inside her while she held onto his shoulders and rocked back and forth to wring her pleasure out of him. He let her set the pace until her rhythm started to stutter; her control slipped as she neared her peak and he tightened his hands on her and drove himself up into her, capturing her climactic scream in a kiss. 

Then she let him take control and it was as if all of the words that had tangled up on his tongue in the past came rushing out at once and he couldn't stop talking, murmuring over and over how beautiful she was, and brilliant and brave; and then, at the last, with his control fracturing into splintered pieces made up of nothing but the feeling of her over him and himself in her, his hands clenching white against her hips: "I love you, Evelyn," and there was nothing but stars.

She collapsed against him and he clutched at her, trying to remember how to breathe and keep his heart beating at the same time. She laughed low in his ear, nothing more than a whisper of breath, and slid around to his side to tuck herself under his arm. "I love you, too."

They lay there for several peaceful moments, just enjoying each other and the surprising moment of relaxed ease. Then Cullen propped himself up on his elbow and grinned down at her, his free hand toying with her hair spread across the pillows. "I have to ask you something."

"Hmm?" She stretched like a happy cat, wrapped in languorous contentment.

"Did you actually kill a High Dragon, or was it all just a nefarious plot to get me into bed?"

Evelyn burst into raucous, shoulder-shaking laughter, and the sheer joy of it pulled him in with her. "To be perfectly honest," she finally said when she'd stilled her glee long enough to speak, "It was rather a bit of both. Well, a lot of both, but the nefarious plot has been in the works for a while."

He laughed. "A while?"

She paused for a moment, and a fleeting flash of something -- apprehension? -- showed in her face. "I'm sorry. I know how private you like to keep things, I just -- "

"Shh, you're forgiven," he interrupted her with a brief, feathery kiss, just a brush of his lips against hers. "All things being equal, I've had a _very_ good night."


End file.
